Stockholm Syndrome
by acquintessence
Summary: The first time I saw Edward Cullen, he had pummeled Mike Newton to pulp and was methodically licking Mike’s blood off his fingers. Like Mike was a cake and his blood was the icing on the top. AU/AH
1. I tongue

**Stockholm Syndrome**

1tongue

**Synopsis:** _The first time I saw Edward Cullen; he had pummeled Mike Newton to pulp and was methodically licking blood off his fingers. Like Mike was a cake and his blood was the icing on the top. I had no idea then that this was my downfall into eternal damnation. [AU/AH] _

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to S.M.

**Stockholm syndrome** is a term used to describe a paradoxical psychological phenomenon wherein hostages express adulation and have positive feelings towards their captors that appear irrational in light of the danger or risk endured by the victims.

"…**I shall be telling this with a sigh**

**Somewhere ages and ages hence:**

**Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,**

**I took the one less traveled by,**

**And that has made all the difference."**

_- The Road Not Taken  
Robert Frost_

Maybe I should have realised that something was wrong when I saw the dark alleyway. The shadows lurking behind it hid unknowns, the faint sound of an urgent pant, the metallic tang of blood vaguely tickling the nostrils… but I didn't. Instead, I looked at my watch and got the shock of my life when I realised just how late it was.

_Shouldn't have spent so long in the library_, I mused, _Charlie's gonna have to eat take-out again tonight, and quite honestly, his cholesterol cannot take it. _

My name is Bella Swan- seventeen, fatally clumsy and utterly boring. I had no idea that my life was going to change so irrevocably and I had no idea that behind that corner lay my downfall into eternal damnation. Still stuck in my naïve construct of reality and blindly holding on to the good in a world that was becoming increasingly corrupted, I was a relic from a past that no longer held true in this tiny town of Forks.

Without a second thought- which I should have taken- I turned the corner and took the less traveled short-cut that I was warned never to take.

_Keep looking at the floor, _I warned myself mentally, _or you'll just fall… again. _

Too focused with preventing that same fatal clumsiness from shortening my lifespan yet again, I didn't see them until it was too late. I noticed the loose gravel under my feet, mentally went through what I would tell Charlie (the truth of course, I had lost sight of time in the library), thought about what I would cook for dinner the next day (Meatloaf? Steak?) and I really didn't notice the debacle that was unfolding before my very… absent… eyes. I'm oblivious like that, you see.

In fact, I didn't see it first- I heard it first. Methodical thuds. A familiar voice in an agonized plea. I looked up and my heart stopped beating.

That was the first time I ever saw him. The first thing I noticed about him was not his unkempt hair that covered his face, or his lean, muscular body that was hidden behind a plain black shirt, or even his green eyes that were breathtakingly beautiful. The first thing I noticed was his intenseness, the way his body was tensed up with purpose, the way he never spoke but was focused entirely on his task, and later, the way his green eyes would stare right at me and unravel me layer by layer. Even through the panic, the nightmarish chaos around me, the intense, unbridling fear, I recognized that he was easily, the most beautiful person I had ever seen, reminding me of how I had always found a leopard beautiful- graceful, purposeful, primal, dangerous.

The second thing I noticed was the unfortunate person he had in his grips. Mike Newton was half slumped, his body weak and pliant like a wilted plant, his neck jutted in a strange angle because the green-eyed stranger was holding him up by his hair. The Mike Newton hair- the one he spent an hour on faithfully every morning in front of the mirror jelling to perfection. (He always cared more about his hair than me.) And he was carefully, with surgical precision, pummeling Mike's face.

I couldn't think. Couldn't move. Couldn't scream. All I could do was to stare at the scene before me. I think my jaw unhinged. And my school bag fell onto the floor.

Mike was barely screaming. His voice came out in a papery whisper. "Sstop it," he cried, "please." The man continued. "Please!" his voice came out a little stronger now, desperate. I don't think Mike saw me; he was too enveloped in pain to notice anything but the pain.

I must have dropped my school bag. Or made a sound of some sort because that someone looked up and stared right at me. Took me in for who I was, poor Bella Swan, innocent naïve Bella Swan, clumsy Bella Swan, scared shitless Bella Swan, immobile Bella Swan, and went back to torturing Mike Newton. Because that was precisely what it was. There was no way it could have been considered a fair match. Mike Newton was barely functioning; brawls degenerates age and he was like a helpless child at the mercy of his assailant. The man with the green eyes let go of Mike's one-hour hair and Mike's body slumped onto the ground, a mass of bruises, cuts, indubitably broken bones and blood.

All that blood.

And even if Mike Newton was a two-timing, cheating bastard of an ex-boyfriend, I knew I couldn't leave him there under the mercy of the green-eyed Mike-Newton-thumping stranger.

I think something in me snapped. _DO SOMETHING. ANYTHING. _

"Stop it," I half whispered, half said. My voice sounded weak. _Honestly, is that the best you can do?! That was pathetic! _"STOP IT," I yelled this time. _Phone. Phone. Phone. Where's my phone? I should call Charlie, Charlie will know what to do. _I fingered my pleated school skirt. The familiar bulge wasn't there. Where the hell was my phone?

With sickening clarity, I realised I must have left my phone at home. Just on the one same day I really needed it. With that same sickening clarity, I realised I could be in a lot of danger.

There was a laugh. It was cold and hard and emotionless. "Why should I?" that someone said. I could barely look at him. My limbs were shaking and I could feel my heartbeat race in fear. I took a few steps back.

"J..just stop it," I said again, "Mike's…. Mike's…." I looked again at the living corpse of Mike Newton. Face completely bashed in and body a wreck of bleeding fresh, crimson blood, cuts, bruises. I faintly heard a gurgle. Mike was twitching uncontrollably and suddenly, his body went slack. He was quiet, for once, not the loud, arrogant, pompous ass that he normally was. In fact, he looked like he wasn't breathing.

"Oh God, Oh God," I said under my breath, "is he dead?"

There was a reply again. The… _someone_ was obviously now uninterested in Mike Newton because the one-sided attack had ended. "He's not dead, unfortunately," he said, "nothing that a few days in the ICU and a few weeks in the hospital cannot heal. I'll say, maybe four broken bones, probably a few broken ribs, superficial cuts, internal bleeding and probably some emotional trauma."

I couldn't help but breath a sigh of relief, and than, the panic set in again. The man hadn't even sounded happy. Or sad. Or triumphant. He had just beat the living lights out of Mike Newton and he remained completely and utterly emotionless.

I took a few more steps back. I could feel my body shake. I knew for a fact that the man in front of me was more dangerous than I could ever imagine.

"Are you scared of me?" he asked again, noticing how I was inching away from him slowly but surely. This time he sounded amused. Amused as he deftly started to lick his fingers clean of Mike Newton's blood. Like Mike Newton was a freaking cake and his blood was the icing all over it.

I couldn't reply, I wanted to run. Charlie's lessons flashed in front of me. _Pepper spray, a kick in a groin and then, run for your life. _But his lessons certainly didn't help when the assailant wasn't really attacking you yet, three meters away and a little too far for pepper spray. And some how, I knew that pepper spray was completely the wrong way to go. Because the man in front of me… could not be provoked.

"You should be," he said again, "I'm not someone to cross." His eyes glinted, and I knew, without a doubt, even though I had no idea who this man was, that he was speaking the truth. My blood chilled.

A lick again. He began sucking his fingers now. I watched in sick fascination and his pink tongue (I half expected them to be forked) flicked out and captured his long fingers.

I tore my eyes away from the tongue that was going to be a part of my nightmares. The adrenaline started to pump and I realised what I had to do. Ignoring my bag, I turned, going to run. I had barely taken a few steps when-

"If you run away, I will kill him."

I stopped. My heart was pounding so heart, my chest started to hurt and I was so close to peeing in my skirt because I had never been so scared in my life.

"Don't kill him," I gasped, "why can't you just let us go?"

That cold laugh again. "I'm having fun," he said, "I'm a hedonist. So, what do you do for fun?"

What kind of question was that? I started playing with the hem of my skirt. My palms felt sweaty. "I… I uh… why are you asking this?" I was desperate. Panicked. My heart beating, thud, thud, thud.

"Answer me," he said harshly. He grabbed Mike by the hair in an abrupt movement and waved Mike's head threateningly in front of me. Mike was out cold and didn't make a sound. I gasped. The words weren't coming into my head. _Think, Bella. Just do what he says._ I tried to ignore the way Mike's hair was matted with blood and the way the madman (what else could I call him?) stared at me intensely.

"Read," I blurted out suddenly. "A lot. I… I like how when I read I can escape and there's nothing but me and the words on the page and the smell on the book and the world that is created and… and… everything around me goes away." I was stunned at the words coming out from my mouth. I had never voiced out my fascination with reading in that way to anyone before. There was something about him that forced me to tell the truth. Maybe it was the fact that he was merciless. Maybe it was just the way he stripped me apart.

He looked at me from where he was standing, slumped against a lamppost, the warm light casting shadows on his face. I couldn't see the expression he made but I could feel the intensity of his gaze on me.

"So, the bookworm girl who likes to hide from the world, what are you going to do now?" He asked. I could almost feel a smirk on his face.

"W...what do you mean?" I questioned. I could my sweaty fingers as I played with my skirt again. I couldn't believe this was happening to me. It was like a dream. Or maybe I've just been so sucked into my book and the world that was created was so real I was a part of it. Or maybe this was just some horrible nightmare I could wake up from.

His tongue again, licking his fingers.

"You come to this alley way. You see me thrashing him," he accentuated this by kicking Mike's body. I winced. "Someone you obviously know." A sneer. "So what are you going to do about it? Are you just going to stay here and make conversation and tell me what you like to do for _fun_?"

Suddenly, the fear that had been overwhelming a while ago disappeared and was replaced by an anger that bubbled. "You… you… _monster,_" I hissed, "you know very well why I'm telling you what I do for fun. Why are you doing this? What did Mike ever do to you?"

He laughed. It was cold. "So that's his name. Mike." His lips curled. "Well… let's just say, Mike was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Mike existed. Unfortunate, really." Another kick. Was that a crunch I heard?

With a strength I did not know existed, I ran towards that Mike's fallen body and towards that man in the light. Blindly, stupidly, I half ran with my fatal clumsiness and half rummaged through my bag for that pepper spray. I felt the unfamiliar cold in my fingers and whipped it out, and without thought sprayed it at the man before me.

I pressed down on the nozzle with my shaking fingers… only to realise that he had disappeared. My temporary surge of courage had resulted in me pepper-spraying thin air. _Smart, Bella._

A voice came out from behind me. "Pepper spray?" he sounded contemptuous. "You really think pepper spray is going to stop me?"

I jumped and whipped around, and he… he was there again, looking at me with those green eyes, his body leaning closer towards me. I could feel his breath on my face, could make out the fine bone structure as it inched forward and the world around me blurred and all I could focus on, all I could see, was that face, that face that would haunt me, that tongue licking an upper lip, that pink flicking tongue…

And then, he backed off. "That was stupid," he said calmly, "that was very stupid."

I shuddered at the words. My heart was still thumping wildly. I could feel the pepper spray canister slip out from my hands. What was I going to do? What could I do? He looked at me again. I noticed how his fingers were now licked clean of blood except for his last, index finger. I noticed how his black shirt was covered with darkened, crusted bloodstains. I noticed how his knuckles were slightly bruised.

"What is your name?" He said suddenly.

The words were stuck in my throat. Wasn't it a bad idea to give your name to a random stranger in a dark alleyway, someone who was infinitely more dangerous than you can ever imagine, someone who had just beaten Mike Newton to pulp?

"If you don't answer me, I will really kick Mr. Mike Newton there," he said, "I will kick him and punch him until all his bones are broken and the hospital here will be making a mint from charging him medical fees."

"Bella," I quickly said, "Bella Swan."

He paused for a moment, as though to memorise my name. "Okay Bella Swan. You have done enough. You can now tell whomever you want to tell that you tried your best. You tried to stop me. You even attacked me, however pathetic it was. Don't worry, Bella Swan who reads books for fun, you tried and your conscience is clean."

He started to walk away. Before he turned, I saw him lick that last index finger clean of Mike Newton's blood. There was a small smile on his face. "I'll see you around Bella Swan." I could only watch as he walked off, his body now relaxed, Mike Newton all over him, blood, snot, tears, pride splattered on his body other than his clean, licked, shiny fingers.

Suddenly I couldn't take it anymore. My legs felt weak, the alleyway became a dark swirl, my head felt lightheaded and the next thing I knew, everything was black.

The last thing I remembered before I lost consciousness was his pink, flicking tongue.

**My first fanfiction and an idea that has been playing in my head for a long time. I hope you take the time to review because it'll make me very happy : ) And it'll help me improve the quality of my writing. Thanks for reading this! **


	2. II book

**Stockholm Syndrome**

2_book_

**Synopsis:** _The first time I saw Edward Cullen; he had pummeled Mike Newton to pulp and was methodically licking blood off his fingers. Like Mike was a cake and his blood was the icing on the top. I had no idea then that this was my downfall into eternal damnation. [AU/AH] _

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to S.M.

**Stockholm syndrome** is a term used to describe a paradoxical psychological phenomenon wherein hostages express adulation and have positive feelings towards their captors that appear irrational in light of the danger or risk endured by the victims.

* * *

_**"'And I pray one prayer--I repeat it till my tongue stiffens--Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living; you said I killed you--haunt me, then! The murdered DO haunt their murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts HAVE wandered on earth. Be with me always--take any form--drive me mad! only DO not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! **_

_--Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights_

I woke up to hear a steady beating, a sound that I had, through countless experiences, came to associate with a hospital. Charlie's face was a blur in my semi-consciousness and I could vaguely hear him calling my name. My head felt heavy and the world around me was spinning but gradually, things cleared.

Charlie was peering at me intently with a very worried look on his face. Even through the slight haze, I could see the folds in his forehead and the telltale signs of white in his hair. I guess having to constantly worry about me- and constant it was given my unbreakable attraction to the hospital's emergency wing- could not have helped either.

"Bella?" Charlie said, again. "How are you feeling?"

It took me awhile to respond. I tried to sit up and strangely enough, my body felt weak. Charlie saw my pathetic attempts and helpfully gave me a hand, propping some hard hospital pillows behind my back at the same time.

"I'm… I'm fine," I croaked. I reached out for the glass of water I saw on the table beside the hospital bed and after nearly knocking it down, I drank it, but not without spilling half of the glass on my shirt. Cursing slightly under my breath, I tried to wipe it dry only to spill more water.

Charlie snorted under his breath. "You're still the same," he said, in a moment of uncharacteristic gentleness. "I… I… was…"

Saving him from unpleasant emotion, I cut in and said, "I'm fine, Dad." I gave an awkward smile.

"The doctor says so too. A little bit of a concussion from when you fell and knocked your head but other than that, you're okay," Charlie rambled, "You're okay." That same relief again I saw every time I woke up with Charlie peering on top of me.

"When can I go home?" I asked. It was getting a bit awkward now because Charlie was now shuffling about and shifting his weight from left to right and I knew that he was nervous or that he had to do something he did not want to.

Charlie said, "they want to keep you for observation for one more day, and after that you can go home."

I groaned. I hate hospitals.

"Bella," Charlie said abruptly, "what happened? I don't want to ask now but it's my job and… well, when I went to the alleyway… and I saw you and," he paused, "Mike Newton lying on the ground…"

I knew this was the closest Charlie would ever get to telling me that he had been scared out of his mind, not just for Mike but especially for me.

"And Mike Newton just woke up but the doc says that he needs some rest first so I have to start with you," Charlie finished. He flashed me an apologetic smile. Sometimes, I forget that Charlie was a policeman- the only policeman- in town. It was hard to reconcile the man that liked his beer and fishes and baseball with a man in blue.

Images flashed through my head. _The intent look on the green-eyed stranger's face when he stared at me, stared through me. Mike Newton slumped on the ground, more blood and bones and muscle and breathing corpse than the arrogant asshole he was. The thick material of my school skirt rubbed between my fingers. The pink, curling tongue. _

My heart started to pound again and my fingers became balmy. How could I tell Charlie about him? How do I tell Charlie that that stranger in the alleyway, perhaps only slightly older than me, had scared me more than anyone or anything ever had in the seventeen years of my existence? Or that when he looked at me, I knew, I just knew, that he was the most dangerous person I could ever meet?

I couldn't.

"I… I was walking home, and I realised it was late," I started, hesitantly. "So I took a short-cut."

Charlie groaned. "Bella, I told you so many times-"

I cut him short. "I know, Dad. But I didn't want you to worry, okay? So I took the short-cut… and I saw… _him."_

"Who's _him?_" Charlie half growled. I could see his knuckles turn a pearly white.

"I don't know his name," I admitted. I deliberately kept my voice even, even though every part of me wanted to shake and shiver. "He was beating up Mike," I continued, "beating Mike up like a robot…" my voice started to crack, "and there was so much blood and I didn't know what to do. I tried, Dad, I used the pepper spray like you told me to but it didn't work! And he kept beating Mike and and…"

I could hear his voice in my head. _"You have done enough. You can now tell whomever you want to tell that you tried your best. You tried to stop me. You even attacked me, however pathetic it was. Don't worry, Bella Swan who reads books for fun, you tried and your conscience is clean."_

Before I knew it, I was crying, shaking as silent sobs wrecked my body. Charlie looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He awkwardly patted my shoulder and after a slight pause, pulled me closer towards him. I leant in just as awkwardly, but at the same time, glad to feel him beside me.

"Did he say anything to you? What did he look like?"

I sniffed, trying to stop the tears. "He didn't say anything," I lied. The words flew out of my mouth unbidden. Why didn't I tell Charlie about the bizarre conversation I had? What strange force prevented me from saying the truth? "He… was tall. Messy hair, couldn't really tell what colour. Around my age. Lean and muscular," I continued. _Green eyes peering right into me. _"And… he had green eyes." _And a pink tongue._

"Did he touch you?" Charlie growled.

I shook my head urgently. "No… no, he didn't," I said, "he didn't touch me at all."

"So what happened after?" Charlie said. "After you tried to pepper spray him?"

"Nothing," I said, "he walked away. And I wanted to help Mike… but then…"

"You fainted," Charlie ended for me. I nodded my head.

I think Charlie sensed that I was unraveling. The anger left his face suddenly and all I saw was weariness. I could see his head whirling and I could imagine him running through all the boys in town trying to match the description I gave him. He was slipping into policeman mode.

Suddenly, all I wanted was to slip underneath the blankets again, close my eyes and pretend that nothing had happened. I faked a yawn that sounded artificial even to me. However, Charlie seemed to buy it. Or maybe he wanted to escape the oppressing hospital room as much as I did.

"I'll go talk to the doctors," he said, "and I need to talk to Mike as well." He watched as I slid down lower into the bed and closed my eyes.

I could hear his footsteps across the room as he walked to the hospital door. With some hysterics, I fancied that the rhythm matched the constant beep coming from the machine next to me. I didn't stir, however, and I could sense Charlie's gaze on me for a few seconds that stretched on.

"Rest well, Bella," he said before the door closed.

Before I fell asleep again, into a restless slumber, I couldn't help but hear his words again in my head.

"_Don't worry, Bella Swan who reads books for fun, you tried and your conscience is clean."_

Why was it then that I felt so utterly guilty?

-

-

-

I woke up a few hours later. Physically, I felt much better but mentally, my mind was in a mess. Charlie was sitting in an armchair beside my bed again. A quick glance at my watch told me it was near evening and I had been sleeping for a large part of the day.

I deliberated whether or not to wake up Charlie when he gave a yawn, stretched and blearily opened his eyes. "You're awake," he said, his voice sounding exhausted. "The doctor said you can leave tomorrow morning."

I let myself feel a momentary disgruntlement over that news when Charlie's voice cut through my reverie.

"Bella," he said with a start. He paused for a while, as though he was uncertain whether or not to tell me something. Charlie had stood up and was now pacing around the room agitatedly. He wasn't looking at me and that was never a good sign.

"We talked to Mike," he blurted out suddenly, "and Mike… doesn't want to press charges."

The shock came slamming in followed by a very loud "WHAT?!".

Charlie just looked tired. There were thick eye bags around his eyes and I knew it wasn't from staying up late to watch baseball.

"I talked to him while you were asleep," Charlie said, "Mike," his lips were curled into a half sneer. Even when Mike was beaten up black and blue, Charlie still could not summon enough sympathy for the boy that had broken my heart. "He doesn't want to press charges. Tried convincing him to. Told him it was his civic duty. Hell, even his parents tried but the boy won't budge. Insane fool," Charlie rambled.

My heart started pounding again. Why that irrational fear? Somehow, thinking that the green eyed stranger would be arrested had been something I had been clinging on to and now it was gone. The thought of him being left to prey on society made my blood chill.

My voice shaking- I started playing with the edge of my blanket again, much like I played with the edge of my school skirt- I asked, "Did he say why?"

Charlie groaned. "No, just muttered something about it being his fault and for the better or some rubbish, refused to say why and refused to press charges."

Half afraid, I said, "So what happens to _him_?"

Charlie knew immediately whom I was referring to. "Nothing," he said. "If Mike doesn't want to press charges we can't hold him on anything. We don't even know who he is right now anyway. He didn't touch you," I saw relief, "and Mike is being stupider than normal, so we've got nothing."

I knew right then that I had to talk to Mike, convince him otherwise, tell him to do something, needed to try to stop the fear that started burgeoning in my chest.

"I'm going to talk to Mike," I said determinedly.

Charlie frowned. "You need to rest!"

I shook my head. "I'm fine, Dad. I need to talk to Mike!"

Seeing the insistent look on my face, Charlie caved in. If anything, he knew that I was stubborn as hell and once I made up my mind, I wouldn't change it. "He's just down the hall, two rooms from here," Charlie said, "He was awake when I left him."

I got out of bed. My body felt light, like it was made on air, and as I walked to Mike's room, I couldn't help but feel as though I was still in a dream. It didn't escape me that Charlie was still hovering like a mother, making sure that I was okay.

I could still see him frowning. "I don't like it," Charlie tried again.

I sighed. "Just because he was an asshole to me… and everyone… doesn't mean he deserved that happening to him, Dad." Charlie looked like he was going to protest. I knew there was a reason why he didn't look particularly upset that Mike didn't want to press charges. "Dad!" I exclaimed.

Charlie grumbled a little under his breath. "Fine," he said. "I'll be around."

I stared at that door for a while. I knocked the door and when I heard a muffled "come in", I walked in.

Mike was lying on the bed. Or what I thought was Mike.

He was swathed in bandages; his right arm was in a cast, as was his left leg. What was not covered in bandages was covered in bruises, which lined his body in fresh purple, as did a smattering of cuts. The way he was lying down seemed strange uncomfortable and that was understandable because the green-eyed stranger had said that Mike's ribs were broken. His hair, normally gelled to perfection, was lying flat. And I couldn't be sure, but it seemed sparser than normal, as though chunks of it had been pulled out.

I couldn't help the gasp that came out from my mouth and I had to swallow the urge to cry.

Even if Mike Newton was the greatest asshole that ever walked the town of Forks, the sight of him lying in bed, crushed to death made tears spring into my eyes.

He looked up. "Hi Bella," he said. His voice was broken, as was the look he gave me. He looked defeated, like a dog that had been kicked one too many times and could now no longer stand up. The arrogant smirk that normally lined his face was wiped off and replaced with a tentative wince. His eyes, usually mischievous and flirtatious were dead.

"What happened to you Mike?" I breathed. _Stupid question. _As though I didn't know what had happened.

Mike didn't answer. He turned his face away to face the window. In fact, it looked like he was looking everywhere except my face.

I walked to the chair beside his bed, pulled it and sat on it. For a moment, we didn't say anything, just sat there in awkward silence.

Finally, Mike broke it. "What do you want, Bella?" he said, his voice coming out a bit harsh. "I thought you never wanted to see me or talk to me again?"

I winced a little as Mike used his words on me. But then again, I had meant those words when I said them and even now, I couldn't get over what he did to me. But it wasn't a time to bring up the past, and especially not now, when there were other things at hand.

"This is not the time," I said firmly, "we can talk about that later. Why don't you want to press charges, Mike?"

Mike sneered. "No 'how are you' or 'I'm glad you're alive' Bella?"

I was taken aback for a moment. "No! Wait, I don't mean, no I'm not glad you're alive or no I don't care how you are but but…" I realised I was starting to ramble. Mike just stared at me unnervingly.

"You were always a frigid bitch anyway," he said calmly.

"Mike, are you _seriously_ going to bring that up now?" I asked incredulously. Of all the times to bring up that same argument again, it was going to be now, when we had already broken up and he was lying in a hospital bed beaten up?

That ugly sneered again. I never liked it. "You just refuse to admit it," he said, "that you are a cold frigid bitch and you deserved everything that happened."

I felt like smacking him. "So you're saying that I deserved getting cheated on just because I refused to put out?" I felt like smacking him. Or breaking his other uninjured arm. And his uninjured leg. And all the unbroken ribs. "Do you even know what you're saying?!"

Mike looked away. I realised suddenly that he wasn't looking at me- hadn't been looking at me at all, and his accusations didn't have the same anger that they usually did. _He's evading my question_, I realised. _He just doesn't want to answer me._

All my initial fury fled me and my murderous thoughts came to a screeching halt. "Why don't you answer my question Mike?" I asked firmly.

Mike didn't reply. He looked jittery.

I repeated my question. "Why don't you want to press charges?" I was getting more worked up this time. He had to press charges. He just had to. I _needed_ him to press charges.

Mike finally looked up. Again, that broken expression. "I can't, okay?" he said finally, pitifully, "I just can't."

I was confused now. What had been done to Mike?

"What happened, Mike?" I asked finally.

A few seconds of silence before Mike replied. "I… I was rushing to meet Jessica," he said. I scowled at the sound of her name but Mike continued on. "It was late, and I wanted to take a short-cut. I bumped into _him_ in the alleyway." Without giving details, we both knew who _him _was. Just the fear in Mike's voice when he said that dreaded word and the matching fear I felt course through my body was enough of an indication.

"I… I said some things. Some things I shouldn't have said. I… I was a pain in the ass. Rude. I shoved _him._ He rightfully shoved back." Mike's words were clinical, emotionless, like a line that had been drilled into his head time and time again.

I scoffed at him disbelieving. "That wasn't a shove!" I exclaimed. "Mike… that was no way near a shove. A shove is when someone pushes you in one direction with a bit of force. A shove is not someone beating you until you're in the hospital!"

"It was my fault," Mike said stubbornly, "I said things I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have shoved him. I don't want to press charges. It was my fault. It was my fault…" his voice started to trail off.

"Did _he_ tell you to say this?" I asked disbelievingly.

Mike shook his head furiously. "It's the truth!"

Lying in bed, his voice dwindling, half his body wrapped like a mummy, his eyes broken… I didn't recognize Mike Newton anymore.

"It wasn't entirely your fault, Mike," I said again, "even if you did say… something… he didn't have to retaliate… the way he did." Mike didn't reply. "You should press charges," I urged. _Please, say you will press charges._ My heart was thumping wildly.

"No." Mike was resolute.

"You're too much of a coward!" I said hotly.

Mike suddenly looked straight into my eyes, his own gaze hard. "Chief Swan said you were there," he said, "he said that you saw parts of it. Said that you saw _him._"

I nodded my head. I should never have taken that short cut.

He was still looking right into my eyes. "Then you understand why I'm not going to press charges," he said.

And right then, I knew why. I knew it just as I knew night from day. Because the green-eyed stranger was haunting me again. His intense green eyes. His mechanical attack on Mike. The way he licked his fingers. The way he said _"I'll kill him."_ And just as I knew then that he was the most dangerous person I'll ever meet, I still knew that now, and I still believed he was being truthful when he said he would kill Mike Newton. And when the weight of all of that sank into me, I knew, with that sudden epiphany, why Mike Newton wasn't going to press charges and why no amount of cajoling would force him to do so.

I nodded my head. With a movement that even shocked me, I reached out for Mike's bandaged hand and held it gently. After awhile, I felt the same pressure back. And for the next few hours, I sat beside Mike, holding his hand, hearing his dry sobs, even though he had once broken my heart and shattered me.

Because we were in this together. Because no one could understand either of us and we only had each other. Because we were all alone and there was no one to help us face the green eyed demon. Because he was the only one to understand the irrational fear that coursed through my veins when my thoughts flew unheeded to that tongue and those emerald orbs and that cold, emotionless voice. And because I was the only one that could understand why Mike Newton did not want to press charges.

-

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When I stumbled back to my hotel room much later, I noticed a parcel on my bedside table. It stood out from the bouquet of flowers that some of my friends in school had left me (Ben and Angela, probably) and from the teddy bear that was lying forlornly on my bed, its beady plastic eyes scaring the heck out of me.

It was an innocuous parcel wrapped in brown lying on my bedside table and for some reason, looking at me caused my heartbeat to race and fear to bubble.

I walked towards the incriminating parcel. It was unmarked and the wrapper was smooth. With hesitant shaking fingers, I unwrapped the parcel. A book slipped out.

It was a brand new copy of _Wuthering Heights._

My heart was racing so fast, my chest started to hurt. Who had given me this book? I flipped open the cover page. The world around me became a blank as nothing existed but the book that was before me and my urgent, beating heart.

_Wuthering Heights. _My favourite book.

A note fell out.

_**My dearest Bella,**_

_**I heard our first meeting gave you a shock and you're recovering. I'm sorry that it turned out this way; I didn't mean for it to happen. **_

_**I thought you would like to have some fun while you're in the hospital. I hope you enjoy it and escape the rest of the world.**_

_**Rest well.**_

The note was unsigned but I knew who it was from immediately. If I thought my heart was pounding before, I was mistaken, because it was beating so hard I felt like I was going to explode from within. My body started shaking and was overwhelmed with fear-

How had he known where I was? Why did he give me the book? And how on earth did he know that _Wuthering Heights_ was my favourite book?

It was too much to take.

I started to scream.

-

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**A/N**

Thank you for all the reviews from the previous chapter, and to all the people who added me on story alert/favorite stories list, I'll really really love to hear what you think about this story and any comments you have to give : )

**Lalaalaaa**: Bella's 17 and Edward's around there too! :) & I'm probably more insane and more mad for writing it in the first place hahahah

**Blackwolf2dragoon:** Yeah it's my first fanfic, I'm glad you like! I don't want to give away too much but I planned on using 'Stockholm Syndrom' metaphorically. But you have to wait and see!!

And thanks to all the other people that reviewed: **xox-Twilight-xox, britxfluva, , Tulipp, luvin-jazz, inmyownworld01 **because you guys made my day!

Hope you like Chapter 2! And tell me what you think haha


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